


Triggers

by CreeDeluje



Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-04-21
Packaged: 2018-01-20 08:47:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1504184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CreeDeluje/pseuds/CreeDeluje





	1. Chapter 1

When I was younger it only happened when I was stressed or bored. I thought they were there to distract me, for comfort. When I was little I ran away, a right of passage in my mind, and hid in a mining tunnel on our ranching property. I wasn’t running from anything, but I felt like I had to; everyone else did, and at that age if other kids were jumping off a bridge I probably would have too. A couple hours in I was getting hungry, and my parents still hadn’t come for me. In hindsight, I probably should have ran away later in the afternoon or perhaps on a day when my parents weren’t both working late and I was expected to put myself to bed. I should’ve brought food, but I was eight, I’d done it on a whim, and I’d never been good about thinking things through.When it started getting dark I began to cry. That was the first time I heard them. 

Now they pierce my mind like a bullet, and they’re getting worse. All it takes is someone pulling the Trigger.


	2. Chapter 2

Can black be loud? People say hunters orange is loud, but I’ve never understood giving something purely visual auditory properties. That being said, it’s dead silent, my vision is as black as black can be with no shades to give it depth, and yet it feels like there’s a pounding in my eyes and ears.

The world turns from pitch black to red, then pink. The screams of my alarm clock penetrate every inch of my mind, slicing into my eardrums and dissecting them: so many layers of sound it hurts. With great effort-seeing as the bottom half of my arm is dead asleep and useless-I lift my arm and flop the meatstick onto my alarm clock, hoping it will either hit the off/snooze button or move the blood clot I imagine is blocking the blood flow in my arm. If fate chooses the blood clot I’d prefer it to just pass through and break apart, but I’m tired enough I wouldn’t mind it traveling to my heart or brain and passing me over to the light, be it fiery brimstone or heaven’s welcoming beams. 

My arm has begun to tingle so the blood clot must be moving, but I continue to flop my hand against the plastic box just in case. I hate the growing tingling sensation; I’m almost rooting for the brain clot by this point, just to end the torture. 

Finally, the alarm silences itself and my arm returns to some form of a functioning limb.

I roll out of bed and land all fours; it’s been the beginning of my morning routine for years. I crawl to the closet; when I smack into the door head-first the first one hits. 

“Hey Seth, someone took their time to wake up. I was almost late, but thanks for finally getting there.” She sounds about 25, maybe older, but I’ve never asked. 

“MMMMM sdfadsafsa.” Een my brain can’t form words yet.

“Amanda, are you late for work again? You gotta quit relying on others,” the male voice of indiscernible age and ethnicity butts in.

“O.M.G. Seth you’re awake! I’ve been trying to get ahold of you for hours! You slept in! I was wondering if you would help me with a bit of boy trouble I’ve been having.”

Audible mental groan- “Trish, I can’t get a girlfriend or a boyfriend for myself, what makes you think I can help you?” I finally answer. “And Amanda, set your own alarm! A nurse should not rely on the mind of a teenage boy to wake her up for her job saving lives!” 

“But it’s worked so well so far! Plus, today the only lives I’m saving are my coworkers’ that didn’t draw the straw for patient bathing.”

“But you’re a boy! You have to be able to help me! I wish I knew what you looked like, maybe I could give you a makeover and help you get a guy too. I’ve always wanted a gay best friend.” 

Trish’s whining voice intertwines with Amanda’s joking one, making me go cross eyed. 

“I’m NOT GAY! Get it right for once would you?” 

“Never said you were buddy,” Amanda chuckles.

“Sorry, wrong channel. Give me a minute.” 

I repeat my outburst to Trish, focusing on my memory of her voice and the placement in my brain. She always tickles the far left corner, in the back about half way down. 

“Pfft. Close enough,” she pouts. 

I roll my eyes and pull a shirt off the hanger above me without looking. It’s a good thing almost everything goes with blue jeans; my contacts are sticking to my eyelids, and I can’t open them long enough to figure out which shirt it is.

“I still think we should meet someday, and you can let me make you over. You’ve been there for me, and we share this special connection; I want to be able to help you in someway too.”

A year ago-ish, Trish’s friend had died. She was hiding how much it affected her (poorly, I might add) and had gotten kicked off her cheerleading team. She was about to wash the hurt down with bleach when she first pushed her way into my mind. I talked her down, so to speak, and we’ve kept up the connection (not like I could stop it if I tried) since. That being said, I don’t want a makeover; I’m a big enough freak as is, thank you very much. 

“That’s sweet of you, but no. I am content with the way I look. And it’s enough knowing you’d try to help me too. I’ve got to go to class chickadee, and aren’t you in 3rd hour? I’ll talk to you later k?”

I feel the tag tickling my neck. I put the darn shirt on backwards again. 

I turn it around, oddly aware that I’m still sitting on my bedroom floor in my boxers and addressing an older woman with my mind. I’m also aware that I’ve kept her waiting after screaming at her that I am not in fact gay. 

“Sorry Amanda. You were saying?”

“I was saying that I have the un-matched pleasure of getting to scrub old man back today.” Hmm, so I didn’t hear that wrong. “It’s so odd that you hear multiple people. I only have you and Rodgers.” 

His name is his trigger. The first time I heard him,I was talking about how I remembered watching Mr.Rodgers and ha mentioned I was sure the old man had to be dead by then. Neither one of us have any idea why the connection was made; it just happened. As usual, the name pulls him back to the conversation.

“Only? Baby, I am all you need!” 

I sense Amanda rolling her eyes; I wonder if the others get that sensation too, then cut in to spare her having to answer. “Were you talking to me or Amanda there? Because while I do swing that way, baby, you just ain’t my type sugar.”

It succeeds in shutting him up, and Amanda whispers a private “Thank you”. 

“No problem.”

“Well I’m at work, time to focus on not gagging at the sight of old wrinkly moobs.”

“Moobs?”

“Man boobs. See ya kid.” And with that she’s gone, and I’m alone in my mind again. For now.


	3. Chapter 3

They’re never gone long. Several of them have asked to meet me; I’ve never been able to bring myself to believe they are real, so I haven’t bothered. On the other hand, I can’t bring myself to write them off as voices I’ve fabricated on my own, so I talk to them anyway. I keep up the relationships and help them if they need it, just in case they’re real and what they’re going through is, too. Trish is one of many examples where ‘just in case’ becomes very important.

 

I feel others scratching at my brain trying to get in, but they haven’t been triggered so I can ignore them for now at least. Well, all but one. 

Jeremiah is probably my best friend; he’s also the voice that is destined to ruin my entire system. He just floats in whenever he likes. I don’t know whether it’s a special power of his mentally, or if he just holds a special place in my heart. Over the past five or so years we’ve grown close, and he’s helped me to deal with them and learn more about myself.

Speaking of floating- “I hate the whole entire FUCKING world!” 

The outburst startles me and I jump back (not the best idea when you’re trying to put pants on). Part of his intensity is due to the fact that I know he talks full-body; I can almost feel my limbs and fingers moving as his do. It’s one of the most unnerving things, and it’s strongest with him by far. I have a theory that he’s deaf and has to sign but, once again, I’ve never asked. Though I started to teach myself sign language just in case.

“Ahh, so you’ve finally lost the Pollyanna optimism and you’ve decided to join me in the dark corners of realism bridging on pessimism. At last. What happened?”

“It’s not fucking fair! I don-” I cut him off.

“Cool it with the sailor mouth dude, you’re polluting my semi-sanitary mind. Keep it up and you won't be alone in here, the other vagabonds will push through.” God I love that word.

“Sorry.” I feel a blush spread across my cheeks, but when I look in the mirror it’s not there.

“Go on. Get back up on the soap box.”

“It’s not fair. I don’t want to move! I like my friends and my school. I have a place that understands me here, why would they drag me to somewhere where not only do I have to start over, but I’m isolated and alone?”

“Dude, you and I can never really be alone. We are quite metaphorically stuck together. Don’t think I haven’t already tried to get rid of you, I’m afraid there’s no hope….Wait, you’re moving? Where?”

“Some stupid school called Johns Tyler High School. And it’s halfway through my senior year too.”

“My school is Johns Tyler High School. In Fairplay?”

“Are you serious? We’re moving to your school?”

“You’re moving to my school?” I’m stunned.

“Rephrasing my question does NOT count as a response.”

I don’t know whether to be ecstatic or horrified. I would love to spend days hanging out with him in person, where I don’t have to pretend I’m using bluetooth or listening to music. On the other hand, If they’re real-if he’s real-I won’t be able to deny any one of their existences, meaning all of my advice and rudeness will have affected real people. And on a completely different note, I don’t want him to hate me. I like him too much for him to hate me, and people who are actually around me tend to dislike me; I can’t imagine if he comes to dislike me too.

 

“Seth?”

“Sorry, I was just a little stunned is all.”

“I gathered as much. But this is great! I FINALLY get to meet you. And if you’re there I won’t be alone at the school! I’ll have at least one person I can talk to, one that can stand by me.”

“Well, when you put it that way… When are you getting here?” Am I shaking? I’m shaking. 

“January 10 is when we have to be moved in, so my dad can start work on the 11th.”

“That’s next week!”

“I know. They kept it from me for as long as they could. We’re leaving in 2 days.”

“Wow. I can’t believe it. If you’d like help moving in I’m game.”   
“Thanks man. By the way, speaking of school, shouldn’t you have left 15 minutes ago?”


End file.
